


flowers that bloom late (are still just as pretty)

by smudgesofink



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 1st years as 3rd years, 3rd year KageHina are a bickering couple, Captain Yamaguchi Tadashi, Childhood Friends, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, and 3rd year Tsukishima can't deal with it, in which 3rd year Yamaguchi is very pretty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24340105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smudgesofink/pseuds/smudgesofink
Summary: Because suddenly, Yamaguchi looks very pretty. Suddenly, Yamaguchi looks breathtaking. His eyes are squinting, nose scrunching up as he smiles like he’ll never smile again, and Tsukishima can’t look away from him.It makes something jumpstart in his chest.Tsukishima freezes and thinks, what the fuck.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 79
Kudos: 934





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is dedicated to my best friend, who loves TsukkiYama and does not judge me when I cry to her about my Haikyuu feelings.
> 
> This one's for you, Pearl!

The gym lights glare down at the court and bathe the wooden floors with harsh brightness. There’s the squeak of shoes on his left from a fidgety first year, the shouting from the bench dull in his ears. Tsukishima ignores the sweat that runs down the side of his face, fixes his eyes on the team in front of him and breathes out evenly.

It’s just a stupid practice match.

But it’s their first stupid practice match as third year high school students, and it’s against Shiratorizawa whom they have never won against in any of their practice matches before. It’s the stupid practice match that has gotten their little first years all riled up, has gotten their second years to wear faces of stubborn determination, has gotten Hinata physically vibrating next to Kageyama throughout the entire bus ride. 

It’s a stupid, meaningless practice match with only enough time for a single game—and yet Tsukishima finds himself giving all he has to win it.

Each team has already taken a set each. The points are 31-32 on their third set now, Karasuno’s set point.

“Nice serve,” Tsukishima calls out, and doesn’t have to look back to know that his friend is smiling.

Yamaguchi serves.

The ball sails through the air, lands an unpredictable drop, and Shiratorizawa scatters. Despite their broken formation, their setter still makes an almost perfect toss, and Goshiki springs into a powerful jump with his arm pulled back. 

Tsukishima moves swiftly. The first years follow his lead, leaping into a 3-man block with the anticipation of a killer spike. In front of them, Goshiki smirks and swings. With all of its speed and force, it hits the tips of Tsukishima’s middle and ring finger and leaves behind a hot, electric pain down the entire length of his forearm as the ball flies out of the court.

Tsukishima curses inside his head, whirling back in alarm to watch everyone from the back row yelling as they gun forward to save the ball—

—and then Yamaguchi’s suddenly there in breakneck speed, diving to the floor and sending the volleyball back into Karasuno’s court with a wild, upward receive. He slams bodily against the gym wall with a sound that Tsukishima feels heavily in his stomach.

“COVER!” Yamaguchi bellows from the floor.

Hinata leaps before Kageyama even gets the ball between his hands.

The toss travels in a blink, Hinata driving it home with a mighty spike, and the ball slams down on Shiratorizawa’s court.

Coach Ukai and Takeda-sensei leap to their feet with matching grins. The players on the bench rush forward, screaming just as loudly as their teammates on the court. A first year, Watanabe, starts crying out of joy. Hinata becomes teary-eyed from looking at him, and gets scolded by Kageyama. On the other side of the net, Shiratorizawa snorts at their antics, just a touch defeated.

_It’s a fucking practice match_ , Tsukishima thinks again, too tired to deal with all of the dramatics.

So instead, he jogs on burning calves to the side of the gym where Yamaguchi sits slumped against the wall, head hung down. His mop of hair is drenched from the effort of playing, shoulders still moving with his breath, and the merciless gym lights do no favors to hide the sticky sheen of sweat that clings to his skin. 

“Are you really just going to sit down while your team is celebrating?” Tsukishima wonders out loud as he stops in front of his best friend and reaches out with his uninjured hand. “Don’t be lazy, Captain.”

Yamaguchi laughs, light and clear, with all of the giddiness and none of the exhaustion he must have in his body. It surprises Tsukishima a little, and he blinks down at the sudden warmth that seeps through his palm when Yamaguchi takes his hand.

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi sighs and raises his head to look up. The lights glare down on him—they reflect in the twinkle of Yamaguchi’s proud, dark eyes, catching in the sheen of moisture that sits undisturbed on the freckled bridge of his nose. A bead of sweat travels a slow path down the defined curve of Yamaguchi’s jaw. It falls against the line of his neck and disappears into the collar of his shirt.

Tsukishima’s breath slows to a stop.

“We won,” Yamaguchi says, half-proud, half-disbelieving. “Against Shiratorizawa.”

“In a practice match,” Tsukishima teases dryly as soon as he finds his voice back, pulling Yamaguchi up. Yamaguchi’s hand is warm inside his grip, all long fingers and calloused palm from all the serving practice, and it feels nice—Tsukishima forces himself to let go once Yamaguchi is standing. “Why are you so surprised that we won? You’re the one who led us here.”

Despite its stilted delivery, Yamaguchi still blushes at the sudden praise. It’s kind of endearing, but also kind of annoying. He of all people should no longer be surprised when others give him the praise he deserves. Yamaguchi pauses, and then seems to gather his bearings as he wiggles his eyebrows like an old man. “Aww, _Tsukkiii_.”

Tsukishima snorts. “Shut up, Yamaguchi.”

Yamaguchi laughs again, louder this time, strong-jawed and boyish under the too bright, washed-out lights, and something must change about him in that moment.

Because suddenly, Yamaguchi looks very pretty. Suddenly, Yamaguchi looks breathtaking. His eyes are squinting, nose scrunching up as he smiles like he’ll never smile again, and Tsukishima can’t look away from him. He realizes it’s the first time he’s witnessing Yamaguchi unabashed in his happiness. It’s also the first time Yamaguchi doesn’t say that stupid apology after Tsukishima tells him to shut up.

It makes something jumpstart in his chest.

Tsukishima freezes and thinks, _what the fuck._

///

The Karasuno players pile up inside the school bus the same way they did earlier on the way to the match, only ten times more exhausted and a hundred times more disgusting. Normally, Tsukishima would grimace at the stench of sweat in the air and attempt to choose a seat away from everyone else. Hinata would call him _Snootyshima_ or some other uncreative variation of his name, Kageyama would smirk and the younger members would laugh, and then Yamaguchi would stop the argument with a warning look before it can start.

Today, Tsukishima barely cares about the smell. He falls to the first seat he finds and forces his aching body to relax despite the tension he feels at the base of his spine. The rest of the team have gone quiet, too tired to engage in anything more than half-assed chatter. Some have fallen asleep.

Tsukishima wants to be grateful for the rare silence, but it’s difficult to appreciate it when his mind all but takes this opportunity to replay that moment inside his head again and again and again until the image of Yamaguchi sweaty and smiling seems to be seared into the back of his eyes. Briefly, Tsukishima wonders if all that jumping and running around from the match has made him delirious with a fever.

“What are you frowning about?”

Tsukishima’s head jerks up just as Yamaguchi drops next to him, crowding him against the window. Their shoulders bump against each other in the small space, thighs touching and knees knocking together. There is suddenly too much of another body pressed up against him with too little time to prepare for it.

Tsukishima knows his face is flushed even as he scowls. “ _Yamaguchi_ ,” he bites out.

Someone in the back of the bus snickers. Tsukishima resists the urge to look back and glare.

“Sorry, Tsukki.” Yamaguchi doesn’t sound the tiniest bit sorry, but he at least scoots a little so there’s a thin sliver of space between the two of them. It doesn’t help at all. Though they’re both wearing their jackets, the length of Yamaguchi’s arm keeps on brushing against his, firm and solid. Their volleyball shorts, on the other hand, don’t cover much skin. Every little movement makes their thighs press together however briefly, and it does something to Tsukishima’s nerves.

He’s never been hyperaware of Yamaguchi before—Yamaguchi has been a constant by his side, both literally and figuratively, and Tsukishima never had a problem with that, but for some reason, Tsukishima can feel the heat radiating off of him today. Can feel the shift of Yamaguchi’s broad shoulders, can feel the hot press of skin each time Yamaguchi’s leg comes in contact with his. It’s an insistent and overwhelming presence.

Tsukishima wants to snap about it, but then Yamaguchi turns to fix him with another smile and the words he’s planning to say die in his throat.

“Stop thinking about it,” Yamaguchi tells him, and for a dreadful moment, Tsukishima thinks he knows. Yamaguchi’s knee bumps against his again. “Whatever it is that we did wrong in the match, or that you think you did wrong, we’ll work on them. There’s time to consider that later.”

Tsukishima swallows down his frustrations. “Right.”

“Just let yourself celebrate with us, for once,” Yamaguchi says softly. This time, when he presses his shoulder against Tsukishima’s, it’s a deliberate, familiar touch that stays there until Tsukishima physically feels himself sag. Some of the tension in him loosens up, and Yamaguchi smiles a little. “You don’t have to worry about things all the time.”

Tsukishima breathes out carefully. Yamaguchi cannot be more further off with his assumptions, but he has a point. _I’m making a big deal out of nothing_ , Tsukishima tells himself, a little relieved to finally regain back some sense. _This doesn’t have to mean anything right now. It’s just Yamaguchi. Worry about this later._

“Tsukki?”

Tsukishima sighs. “Yes, Captain.”

“Jerk,” Yamaguchi quietly retorts, smiling. “Don’t frown too much, Tsukki. You’ll scare the first years again.”

Tsukishima’s mouth twitches into a small, wry grin. “I thought that was my role in the team.”

“It is, but they’re well-behaved right now,” Yamaguchi hums. “Save the intimidation for when they’re being bratty.”

“Oh? That’s kind of evil, Captain.”

“I learned from the best.”

Tsukishima side-eyes him warily. “Me?”

“No,” Yamaguchi grins like a little shit. “Suga-san.”

Tsukishima covers his laugh with a hand over his mouth, and pretends not to know about the heat creeping up his neck when Yamaguchi buries his snickers against Tsukishima’s arm. The rest of the bus ride is spent in peace.

///

When they return to the Karasuno gym, the meeting that usually comes after a match is reduced to nothing more than Coach Ukai congratulating everyone on their efforts before gruffly telling all of them to go home and rest. The team bows their thanks, cleans the gym, and then gets ready to leave, with Yamaguchi’s announcement of free meat buns sending a round of cheers among the second and first years.

Just as everyone is putting their shoes on, Tsukishima turns and finds both Hinata and Kageyama hanging back inside the gym. _Don’t tell me it’s extra practice again, Jesus Christ._

“Oi, Dumbass Duo,” he calls out, smirking just a little when it garners laughter from the team as they’re walking away and gets him a disgruntled glare from Kageyama. “The captain’s treating everyone to meat buns. Hurry up.”

“A-Actually!” Hinata begins, interrupting Kageyama before he can snarl insults at Tsukishima. There’s a suspicious redness to his face and Tsukishima narrows his eyes. “Tob—K-Kageyama and I are gonna stay for a bit. To, uh. To—”

“—practice jump serves,” Kageyama grunts, expression matching Hinata’s.

_Bullshit_ , Tsukishima wants to say but thinking about the two of them doing anything else other than volleyball inside the gym is mentally scarring, so Tsukishima doesn’t even bother. “Fine,” he sighs. “Make sure to lock up.”

“We will,” Hinata promises, and then points a gravely serious finger at Tsukishima. “Tell Yamaguchi to buy me a meat bun tomorrow.”

“No.”

“Meanie-shima!”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes.

“Dumbass,” Kageyama scolds with a frown. “If you want a meat bun so bad, just go with them.”

“But I wanna practice with you, too!” Hinata whines.

“Make up your mind, _boke!_ ”

“Why don’t _you_ buy me meat buns then, asshole!”

“Why the hell should I?!”

“Then don’t! Don’t buy me any, Stingy-yama!”

“Shut up and I’ll buy you one!”

“I want two!”

“Fine!”

“ _Fine_!”

The impromptu shouting match ends with both of them short of breath, staring at each other with faces flushed in embarrassment and badly hidden fondness. From the gym entrance, Tsukishima wishes he could rewind to a few seconds ago when his eyes hadn’t crumbled up and withered from watching that weird mating ritual unfold. Thank god the rest of the team already went ahead.

“Gross,” Tsukishima declares loudly. Kageyama and Hinata startle, sputtering in shock like they’d forgotten he was there. “I’m leaving now. Clean the gym before you go.” Tsukishima shuts the door before either of them could say anything more. He walks a brisk pace and convinces himself it’s so he can catch up with the others quickly—it’s definitely not because seeing Hinata and Kageyama bicker as a couple has made his chest squeeze in on itself.

When he finally reaches Sakanoshita, the second years are already waving goodbye to Yamaguchi, the first years nothing more than tiny figures in the distant streets. Tsukishima slows his steps and comes to a stop at Yamaguchi’s side. This time, when Yamaguchi smiles up at him, soft and lovely— _has Yamaguchi always smiled like that? why hasn’t Tsukishima noticed before?_ —he’s ready for it.

“Here.” Yamaguchi hands him a small, wrinkle-free paper bag. “I asked for them to pack yours separately. I know how much you hate eating food from the same bag.”

“It’s unsanitary, Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima mutters as he takes the bag, looking pained. “The second years are fine, but have you seen the first years? They don’t wash their hands.”

“Of course, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi says, nodding as if to appease. He frowns in thought as they start walking. “I should probably talk to them about hygiene.”

“You’d do us all a favor if you do.” Tsukishima says. He looks down at the bag in his hands and then glances evenly at his friend. “You know, you don’t have buy us meat buns all the time.”

“It’s fine.” Yamaguchi waves it away easily. “The team likes it. And besides, Daichi-san did it, and Ennoshita-san did it too, when he was captain. It just feels like a Karasuno tradition now, you know? Plus, Hinata gets really motivated to study when I bribe him with meat buns.”

“Hm. Well, at least now we know that Hinata likes something other than volleyball, like a normal human being,” Tsukishima remarks dryly, and then pauses. “Kageyama is still up for debate.”

Yamaguchi’s snort of laughter makes him smile in reflex. “Don’t be mean, Tsukki.”

They turn a corner when Yamaguchi makes a sound of curiosity.

“Speaking of Hinata and Kageyama, you took a while with them before you caught up. Did something happen?”

Tsukishima shrugs. “They had a fight.”

“What?!” Yamaguchi yelps.

“No, not—,” Tsukishima purses his lips in a grimace. “Not a serious fight. They were yelling about something idiotic as usual. I got caught in the middle of it.”

“Oh, thank god,” Yamaguchi breathes out, utterly relieved the only way a captain would be. “I thought it was something bad. Like a breakup fight.”

Against his own will, Tsukishima recalls the matching expressions of dumbstruck adoration in both Hinata and Kageyama’s faces after their bickering. Something in his chest squeezes again. Frowning, Tsukishima shakes his head. “I don’t think they’re breaking up anytime soon. They were just being stupid.”

“Good. I’m glad,” Yamaguchi says. He clears his throat after a moment, and when he speaks again, he sounds oddly hopeful. “But you know, what they have sounds nice, don’t you think?”

Tsukishima blinks. “Stupidity?”

“I mean a relationship.”

“Oh.” Tsukishima frowns deeper. “Of course it’s nice. It’s still new.”

“I guess.” Yamaguchi chews on his lower lip, mulling over the thought. It’s a distracting sight to behold while walking, so Tsukishima makes himself look away before he ends up tripping over his feet. “I just—I just thought of how good it must be, how lucky they must feel,” Yamaguchi’s voice drops to an almost whisper, like his words are a secret that only Tsukishima is allowed to hear, “to be able to openly love someone like that.”

Tsukishima wills away the urge to escape the conversation. As much as he wants to swiftly change the subject to something that feels a little less unknown and daunting, to something that feels a little more safe to talk about, Yamaguchi has never spoken about anything like this before—earnest and wistful, like he’s yearning for it. It probably bothers Tsukishima more than it actually should.

Tsukishima swipes his tongue over a chapped lip, deeply uncomfortable even as he tries his best, pointing out, “Don’t you think it’s also something that worries them?”

Yamaguchi glances at him. “What do you mean, Tsukki?”

“Their relationship just started in our last year of high school, and we’re graduating in a year,” Tsukishima says as a matter-of-factly. “They took a chance on a relationship may end as soon as things change. Circumstances change. People change. Dreams and idealistic relationships suffer as real life happens. Don’t you think it was risky of them, to start something even when it was too late?”

Yamaguchi pauses in his steps, whirling to stare up at Tsukishima. Tsukishima follows his pace and meets his eyes.

They come to a full stop underneath a lamppost.

For a moment, everything is still. The yellow light shines on them, and it is nothing like the harsh gym brightness. Yamaguchi looks soft in this lighting. Blurry, almost ethereal, like a dream. It highlights the gentleness of his face, the roundness of his eyes, the pink line of his mouth. For a moment, Tsukishima forgets what they’re talking about. He could count the number of freckles that dot Yamaguchi’s face, if he’s given the chance.

When Yamaguchi speaks again, his voice is soft enough to protect the quiet. “I would risk it.”

Tsukishima blinks slowly at him, entranced. “What?”

“I would risk it, for someone I love. Even then,” Yamaguchi swallows, a nervous habit he can’t seem to break, and Tsukishima’s eyes follow the movement of his throat for a split second. “Even though things change. Even when it’s too late.” He gives a decisive nod, as if to reassure himself of his words, and Yamaguchi’s shoulders square up in stubborn determination. “Too late is still better than never.”

“Oh,” Tsukishima says, hushed.

“What about you?” Yamaguchi asks.

“What about me?” he echoes.

Yamaguchi’s eyes are big and expectant when Tsukishima meets them. “Would you risk it?” his best friend asks once more, and it sends something squeezing fiercely inside Tsukishima’s chest. It is the same jolting ache from Shiratorizawa’s gym. It is the same ache from watching Hinata and Kageyama look at each other.

Tsukishima is barely breathing when he opens his mouth to answer. “I—“

“Tadashi!”

The moment breaks like a stone thrown at a glass window. He and Yamaguchi spring apart, suddenly too close, too silent, and they both turn around hastily to see Yamaguchi’s mom waving at them from their gate.

“M-Mom!” Yamaguchi squeaks out, mortified.

Tsukishima waves back robotically at his friend’s mother, and promptly realizes that he had unknowingly walked Yamaguchi home. He hasn’t done that since they were kids and Yamaguchi had confessed to being scared of walking alone through dark streets. Yamaguchi must realize it, too, because he’s suddenly back to stammering the way he did as a first year.

“Tsukki! Sorry! I’m—I shouldn’t have—It was stupid—”

Tsukishima grimaces. “Yamaguchi—”

“Tadashi, is Kei-kun sleeping over?” Yamaguchi-san calls out.

“No, Mom! We’re okay, please go!” Yamaguchi all but wails in embarrassment, trying to wave his mother back inside the house with his gesturing arms alone. He takes a deep breath as he faces Tsukishima again, running a hand through the back of his hair. Tsukishima watches it stupidly. “Tsukki, I’ll—I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” Tsukishima’s voice sounds detached from him. He clears his throat and finds it drier than a desert. “See you.”

He doesn’t move from where he stands until Yamaguchi and his mother disappear into the house, and even then, it takes Tsukishima a minute to gather himself and another to finally walk to his own house.

Tsukishima’s not sure how he gets home, exactly. He’s not sure how he got through dinner or finished any of his homework or how he settled into bed either, because all he could think of is Yamaguchi’s painfully soft voice, asking him.

_“Would you risk it?”_

In the quiet darkness of his bedroom, Tsukishima stares at his blurry ceiling. His answer echoes in his mind.

_I would, if it was you. I would if it was you, Yamaguchi._

Everything that happened today suddenly makes a lot more sense.

Tsukishima breathes in slowly, and blinks. “Fuck.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first week of navigating newly discovered feelings? Decidedly horrible.
> 
> But the second week—
> 
> The second week is worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, writing this chapter: What do I want from this?
> 
> My brain: Tsukishima Suffering(TM)
> 
> Me, writing this chapter: Ah, Yes. Tsukishima Suffering(TM).

He gets no sleep.

He gets no sleep. Instead, Tsukishima spends the whole night relearning a name and its meaning again and again and again, an endless loop of syllables inside his mouth— _Yamaguchi Tadashi Yamaguchi Tadashi Yamaguchi Tadashi Tadashi Tadashi_ —to no avail. The entirety of his childhood flashes before his eyes as Tsukishima tries to accurately figure out _when_ exactly he had developed—a crush? an attraction? a dizzying mix of emotions that no words can describe, that his chest can’t begin to wrap around?— _something_ for his best friend, because it isn’t as if Yamaguchi has changed overnight, Tsukishima knows that.

And yet.

And yet, it’s only yesterday that he seemed to have opened his eyes and properly noticed it. As if the gym lights had some innate supernatural power that made Yamaguchi stop becoming just Yamaguchi and start becoming freckles and bright eyes and too-broad shoulders and too-lovely smiles and—

—and Tsukishima is horrified. Where are these words coming from? What has he become?

With these plaguing thoughts, Tsukishima spends the night going through the five stages of grief and back again until the sun rises up high enough to pierce through his curtained windows. He gets no sleep, and when his phone alarm rings, Tsukishima has the fleeting temptation of pretending to be sick and skipping school for a quick, desperate moment.

And then he grimaces, because no.

He’s not some shoujo manga heroine. This is not some sappy rom-com movie.

He’s not going to miss classes because of feelings.

Which he has.

For his best friend.

_For Yamaguchi._

The reminder echoes in Tsukishima’s mind and the temptation resurfaces again. Tsukishima wants to bury himself alive in his pillows.

He sits up with a grunt, swipes the alarm off, and puts on his glasses by the nightstand. There’s a dull ache in his temples and heavy soreness around his eyes that he knows would look ghastly as the day goes on, but Tsukishima soldiers on in the early morning anyway and shuffles to the kitchen to start breakfast. He cracks enough eggs on a pan for him and his mom before rummaging the fridge for leftovers he can heat up for a packed lunch.

He finds some chicken stir fry, some vegetables, and a bag of frozen fries that he stares at for far too long.

 _If I fry it now and pack it to school,_ Tsukishima’s stupid, sleep-deprived lizard brain thinks, _it’ll be soggy later._

 _Yamaguchi likes soggy fries,_ his brain thinks next.

Then, _should I make soggy fries for Yamaguchi?_

The smell of something burning pulls his attention. Tsukishima whirls around, cursing at the sight of too-brown edges on his eggs, and leaves the bag of fries alone to salvage breakfast. Any and all thoughts of _Yamaguchi_ and _fries_ are resolutely pushed away from his mind in the meantime to lessen the possibility of him burning their house down.

///

Later, as he’s preparing to go, slipping on his shoes to the sound of his mother protesting about sub-par breakfast eggs— _“_ not that I don’t appreciate you cooking me breakfast, Kei, it’s sweet of you, but next time I’ll teach you how so they won’t look like this”—his phone pings with a text notification, and Tsukishima makes the bad decision of swiping it open.

> **To: Kei  
>  From: Yamaguchi**
> 
> _tsukki! (_ _ﾉ_ _◕_ _ヮ_ _◕_ _)_ _ﾉ_ _*:_ _･ﾟ✧_ _i’m about to leave the house now!_

“—really, how can I let you go away for college if you can’t even cook eggs properly, I—Kei? Kei, dear, what’s going on?”

Tsukishima blinks at his phone and takes a deep breath, so he won’t do anything drastic, like crumple to the floor from suddenly weak knees just because Yamaguchi sent a stupidly cute emoji. “Is it too late to contract the flu and be bedridden for a week?”

“What?”

“Nothing, Mom.” Tsukishima shakes his head and pretends not to notice the ridiculous rush of heat pooling on his face as he sends a short reply of ‘ _me too_ ’ to Yamaguchi and pockets his phone. It’s going to be a long day. “I’m going now.”

///

_It’s fine,_ is what Tsukishima tells himself as he walks on familiar streets, hands buried deep in the pockets of his school pants. It’s a relatively cool morning, the sunlight not hot enough yet to warm anything it touches, but Tsukishima’s palms feel disgustingly clammy anyway. The beginnings of a headache bloom inside his skull and Tsukishima has some very late regrets about getting up from his bed.

_It’s just Yamaguchi. It’s fine._

He repeats the words like a mantra until he stops at their meeting point, where the sun casts its rays on a familiar figure waiting at the corner of a street.

Tsukishima stops in his tracks just as Yamaguchi turns around and smiles at him in greeting.

“Morning, Tsukki!” Yamaguchi says. When Tsukishima doesn’t take a step towards him, Yamaguchi jogs to meet him where he is, because Yamaguchi is just that person. “I thought you were going to be late.”

“I told you I was leaving the house just as you were.”

“You did,” Yamaguchi hums teasingly. “But you usually walk slower than I do, Tsukki.”

Tsukishima is right. It’s just Yamaguchi.

It’s just Yamaguchi, whose face lights up with a grin that feels just as warm as the sunlight that reaches down to caress his face. Yamaguchi, who teases him without being mean about it. Yamaguchi, who has found Tsukishima when they had been kids, who stayed and stuck by his side, following him without complaint despite Tsukishima’s aimless sense of direction in life.

It’s just Yamaguchi, who claims to be bad at English despite having consistently high grades in it, whose humor includes compilation videos of cats failing to jump and toddlers eating lemons for the first time, whose favorite food are the soggy French fries that get left over when everyone else is too full. Just Yamaguchi, who mother-hens anyone and everyone he has ever met for even a moment, who has far too much care for other people and not enough concern for himself, who is a great captain and an even better friend.

Just Yamaguchi, who has laughed and hurt and grown alongside of Tsukishima for as long as he has remembered.

“Tsukki.” Yamaguchi’s frowning now when Tsukishima blinks down at him, just a pinch of the eyebrows that causes a furrow in the middle of his forehead and tempts Tsukishima to smooth it away with a thumb. “Everything alright?”

There are no fireworks, no birds suddenly bursting into symphonies. There are no earth-shattering moments of revelation where Tsukishima’s reality crumbles before his very eyes, and neither of them brings up the oddly tense conversation last night, unlike what Tsukishima had dreaded. This is not a rom-com. Tsukishima is not a shoujo manga heroine.

But there is Tsukishima’s soft, steady breath and a certain weakness in his clammy hands. He clears his throat and looks into Yamaguchi’s bright eyes the way he has been looking into them for years. “Bad night,” he confesses easily, and watches Yamaguchi’s worried frown turn into one of understanding. “I didn’t get enough sleep.”

Yamaguchi nods sympathetically. “Do you want to skip morning practice for today?”

Tsukishima’s mouth twitches up in the slightest. “Watch it, Captain,” he teases. “That’s favoritism.”

“ _Tsukki_ ,” Yamaguchi whines. “Don’t be difficult.”

“I’m sorry, have you met me?”

Yamaguchi puffs his cheeks up like a fish, mock-annoyed. It makes for a very adorable, childish sight. Tsukishima fights down a smile. “Fine,” Yamaguchi tells him and then marches forward into the street to get them going. Tsukishima falls into step with him easily when Yamaguchi frowns up at him again. “But you’ll tell me if you feel too bad?”

“Yamaguchi,” he says dryly, “when have I ever not complained about an inconvenience?”

“Huh,” Yamaguchi blinks, and then breaks into chuckles. “You’re right, Tsukki.”

There are no butterflies in his stomach.

But there is an ache in his chest that Tsukishima cannot will away as he openly stares at his best friend breaking the morning’s silence with his gentle laughter. There is the softest urge to take a hesitant hand out of his pocket and reach for Yamaguchi’s fingers. It would have been the easiest temptation to fall into, to tug Yamaguchi to a stop and kiss him. _It’s just Yamaguchi_ , Tsukishima realizes and struggles to keep his heart from crawling up his throat. _It has always been just Yamaguchi._

Yamaguchi catches his eyes then, and smiles.

Tsukishima looks away. _Fuck._

It’s absolutely not fine.

///

The day passes like a car ride blur, insignificant except for the glimpses of Yamaguchi that Tsukishima’s eyes keep on stealing at inopportune moments. Afternoon practice rolls around, and more glances are stolen.

Tsukishima’s headache worsens. When he gets home, he collapses down on his bed face-first.

He wakes up at midnight, heart racing, to dreams of tan skin and a cluster of freckles like stars.

///

The first week is terrible.

It is a series of sleepless night haunted by thoughts and endless days spent ignoring the phantom squeeze of his heart every time Tsukishima so much as looks at Yamaguchi. He cannot stop looking at Yamaguchi, despite his best efforts to do otherwise. He cannot stop his eyes from tracing the slope of Yamaguchi’s nose, or the timid curl of hair over his ear, or his hands, the shape of them strong and sure around the curve of a volleyball as he prepares to serve, or his throat, bobbing with the movement of his encouraging words as he shouts them during practice and laughs when the team yells back.

And all Yamaguchi has to do in turn is to smile at him, no matter how quizzically, and then the words are rushing to come out, clogging themselves within Tsukishima’s throat, _I want to memorize all the constellations on your skin, if you’d let me. I want to hold your hand in my own. I want let you fall asleep with your head against my shoulder. I want all of it, if you’d let me have it. I would risk it for you._ It is all Tsukishima can do to helplessly press his mouth shut to keep himself from spilling open like a disaster.

It is a whole week of spacing out like a bumbling idiot with heavy, sleep-desperate eyes, and migraines upon migraines upon sleep-deprived migraines that makes the beginnings of violent urges. Once, during lunch break where Hinata and Kageyama had sought him out for some last-minute tutoring before a big test, Kageyama had called him The Eyebags Demon. Hinata had snickered, and Tsukishima had picked up his pencil calmly and thought, _Oh. Maybe I’ll stab them._

Except then, Yamaguchi had appeared out of nowhere and pulled up a chair to sit by his side, leaning over his desk to copy Tsukishima’s English notes and he’d sat so close that Tsukishima can smell the citrus of his shampoo and any and all thoughts of possible homicide had vanished as Tsukishima’s brain short-circuited.

So, the first week of navigating newly discovered feelings? Decidedly horrible.

But the second week—

The second week is worse.

///

Yamaguchi got a haircut.

It is the first thing Tsukishima notices as he comes close to meet—his best friend? crush? source of everyday devastation?— _Yamaguchi_ , at the corner where he’s been leaning against the wall as he waits. Yamaguchi turns to Tsukishima, face open, smile bright, and his now-short hair springs up with the movement of his head. It makes him look like a cleaned-up, respectable young man and yet makes Tsukishima remember eight year-old Tadashi. It is a very confusing, alarming thing to see. “Good morning, Tsukki.”

“Hey,” is what Tsukishima says, mouth dry, “you got a haircut.”

“Ah. Yeah.” Yamaguchi reaches a hand up to his hair with a self-conscious grin. “I wanted a trim but I think the barber misunderstood me? It’s too short, isn’t it, Tsukki?”

It is too short.

It is too short to cover things that his long hair used to cover before, so everything’s just exposed now—the delicate shell of Yamaguchi’s ears, the shape of his jaw, the length of his neck, and Tsukishima’s fingers are all quivering to touch. It’s even too short to rest properly on Yamaguchi’s head, bouncing every time Yamaguchi so much as moves even a little bit. It’s painfully adorable.

“Tsukki?”

Yamaguchi’s looking at him expectantly, so Tsukishima yanks his locked jaws open.

“No,” he says. Like a liar. “It’s fine.”

Yamaguchi looks doubtful for a second, but he quickly smiles it away with a shake of his head. His short hair sways along, and it’s too fucking cute. “Whatever you say, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi starts with an overly dramatic sigh. “But if they stare at me in school, know that you’re responsible for my false confidence and therefore at fault when I ultimately wither away without my self-esteem and become an outcast from society for the rest of my life.”

Tsukishima huffs a short, crumbling laugh. He uses the distraction to reach a hand and tug gently at the too-short strands. Yamaguchi’s hair is soft between his fingers, and probably smells of his orange shampoo. He wants to run his fingers through the entirety of it. “It’s a just haircut,” Tsukishima says as unaffectedly as he can, like another liar. “Nobody will even notice,” he adds, like a third, even bigger liar.

Yamaguchi smiles. “Maybe,” he admits, finally pacified.

Yamaguchi looks up curiously at Tsukishima, and Tsukishima glances down at him, heart thundering inside his ribcage. Like this, it would be so easy to lean down and kiss him. Just like that, it would be out in the open like a dam torn apart. _Should I risk it,_ Tsukishima wonders. He thinks about a decade’s worth of carefully built friendship and asks himself, desperately, _should I risk it?_

There’s a pause, like silence before lightning cracks down on the ground, and then there’s a sharp inhale somewhere between them. Yamaguchi blinks. Tsukishima twitches, electrocuted by panic, and drops his hand as he steps away. His stupid, fumbling hand pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose in an attempt to act casual.

The moment is broken.

Thankfully, Yamaguchi doesn’t comment on his behaviour. His best friend sighs instead and looks at the road ahead of them. He takes the first step towards the direction of their high school. “Hey, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi says after a while. “I bet you two pork buns that the first years will compliment my haircut.”

Tsukishima’s shoulders sag down. “The first years compliment anything you do,” he points out.

“I bet you two pork buns that Hinata will compliment my haircut,” Yamaguchi says instead.

Tsukishima rolls his eyes. “Hinata always overreacts.”

“I bet you two pork buns that _Kageyama_ —“

“Fine,” Tsukishima groans. “Two pork buns.”

Yamaguchi laughs, leading the way to school. His hair bounces with his steps.

Today, Tsukishima is content to follow.

///

They arrive at the club room for morning practice, and the first years trip over themselves to compliment the captain. The second years notice it quickly once the kouhai do, and then Hinata’s bounding over to them to jump up and down in excitement.

“Yamaguchi, you finally cut your hair!” Hinata crows happily. “It looks really nice!”

Yamaguchi rubs the back of his head, blushing pink at the attention. “Thanks, Hinata.”

“I mean it!” Hinata insists. He cranes his head to look back. “Tob—Kageyama! Doesn’t Yamaguchi’s hair look nice?”

Kageyama glances up from where he had been busy changing into his practice clothes to give Yamaguchi a onceover. Yamaguchi holds his breath. Tsukishima pauses in front of his own locker, waiting.

Kageyama frowns in consideration, then gives an awkward thumbs-up that has Hinata beaming like a proud parent, as if a thumbs-up is a huge personal achievement for Kageyama. Maybe it is. Tsukishima doesn’t want to dwell on it. “Nice,” Kageyama declares, and Yamaguchi wins two pork buns.

Tsukishima clicks his tongue.

Both of the volleyball idiots react violently about it, clueless about the bet and personally offended on behalf of Yamaguchi and his too-short haircut. Tsukishima rolls his eyes at the petty start of a fight as the two other third years tag-team him and tries not to feel too warm at the sound of Yamaguchi laughing at them in the background.

/// 

In the middle of a water break during morning practice, Tsukishima opens the door to a harried-looking Yachi. They had all thought she wouldn’t be joining them when she hadn’t arrived as soon as practice began. It isn’t like her to be almost an hour late for volleyball practice, but Tsukishima voices out none of that as he sets down his water bottle and wordlessly takes a heavy box out of her hands.

“Thank you so much, Tsukishima-kun,” Yachi says with all of her sincerity, sounding as if she’s eternally grateful, which is how Yachi sounds like most of the time. She’s like Hinata in that aspect, except she’s blonde, less likely to yell in excitement about volleyball and therefore more tolerable to be around. “I’m so sorry I’m late!”

“It’s fine,” Tsukishima says. A quick look into the box reveals it full of the new Karasuno club jackets for this year. He sets it aside on the floor for later and turns to their manager, who’s still catching her breath, flushed in the face. Tsukishima frowns. “Do you need water?”

“No.” Yachi shakes her head vehemently. “I-I’m just—” She turns red even further, as if recalling something, and then slaps two of her hands violently into her face to hide a shrill sound.

Tsukishima quickly turns around in alarm. “ _Yamaguchi._ ”

Yamaguchi jogs to them at the call of his name, much to Tsukishima’s immediate relief. Unlike Tsukishima, he doesn’t hesitate to gently pry off Yachi’s hands from her face. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“—so _frustrating_ ,” Yachi wails in between their small circle of three as soon as her hands are off her mouth, and almost instantly, Tsukishima realizes with a jump of his eyebrows that Yachi is _angry._ “I wasn’t supposed to be late, I was on time and I had the jackets and then _he ambushed me out of nowhere_ and I had to stand there for _so long_ —“

Yamaguchi frowns. “Who?”

“Kadokawa-san!” Yachi cries in annoyance, and Yamaguchi’s mouth drops open in offense. “The basketball club captain!”

“He confessed to you _again_?” Yamaguchi demands. “Even after you’ve turned him down last time?”

“Yes!”

“How dare he!”

“ _I know_ ,” Yachi whines as Yamaguchi pats her back and makes rightfully outraged noises on her behalf. “I told him no a dozen times already!”

“You did!”

“I had to listen to his confession again and I told him I was late and he didn’t even care! The jackets were heavy!”

“He’s a jerk!”

Tsukishima looks on between the two of them, lost, and Yamaguchi turns up to him with that ridiculous indignant frown. “Can you believe it?” Yamaguchi rants to him, as if Tsukishima should know this already. “The captain of the basketball club keeps trying to steal our manager!”

Tsukishima raises an eyebrow. “I think Yachi said he was trying to confess.”

“It’s basically the same thing!” Yamaguchi insists. Yachi woefully agrees with him.

“It’s just,” Yachi sighs, “I know him from Class 2 and he’s a good guy, really, and he can be a good friend, but I just don’t like him that way, you know?”

Yamaguchi nods along definitively. Tsukishima nods along uncertainly.

“Some people are just better off as friends, you know?” Yachi tells them, chewing on her lip. The annoyance seems to drain out of her little by little. “It’s just awkward when they keep on confessing and insisting on a relationship.”

“I know, Yachi,” Yamaguchi says with a frown, rubbing soothing circles on Yachi’s back. “I get you. I wouldn’t want to receive that kind of confession either.”

Tsukishima freezes.

“Thanks, Yamaguchi,” Yachi says, putting on a feeble smile.

Yamaguchi says something in turn, brows still furrowed, but Tsukishima isn’t listening anymore, rooted to the spot like the floor has been pulled underneath him and unable to hear beyond the roar of white noise in his ears and the sickening feeling of his heartbeat in his throat. _Oh_ , Tsukishima thinks hollowly, followed by a small, devastating realization that he may have gotten this all wrong.

///

He doesn’t sleep again that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said it was two chapters. I lied to you guys and I played myself. It's three chapters. Please enjoy the third part of this fic!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is not like a dam breaking open.
> 
> It is a quiet, aching admission instead, that comes out of Tsukishima’s mouth as a tremble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the last chapter!! Thank you so much for sticking with me through this, everyone!

Tsukishima misses morning practice the next day.

There are fifteen texts and three missed calls from Yamaguchi alone when Tsukishima checks his phone, the texts starting off from curious in tone to vaguely annoyed to utterly worried in their progression. The second to the last text is a threat to call Tsukishima’s mother. The last text is just a series of question marks, exclamation points, and crying emojis.

_‘Woke up sick’,_ Tsukishima texts back, determinedly ignoring the ache eating away at his insides.

Yamaguchi’s reply pings loudly on his screen just seconds later.

> **To: Kei  
>  From: Yamaguchi**
> 
> _oh noooo, tsukki o(╥_ _﹏_ _╥)o get some rest!!! tell me if you’ll be absent for the whole day so i can bring you today’s homework._

Tsukishima breathes out, and rolls away from his phone.

///

Tsukishima arrives in class five minutes before their teacher enters the classroom. It gives him enough of an excuse to beeline directly to his seat at the window and ignore Yamaguchi’s worried eyes following him across the room, watching his every move.

For once, Tsukishima is thankful to be buried under the amount of class work that comes from being in college prep classes. His vision swims as he reads his textbook and his head throbs viciously from the lack of sleep, but at the very least, it keeps him away from having to interact with anyone.

From having to interact with Yamaguchi, most especially.

When the bell rings and the students shuffle out of the room for lunch break, Tsukishima is quick to bury his head into his arms and close his painful eyes. He hears a distinct set of footsteps shuffling near him, hovering and radiating worry, and he holds his breath.

He hears Hinata’s voice from the doorway, calling. “Yamaguchi! Tsuki—”

“Hinata,” the person near Tsukishima shushes gently, and then Yamaguchi’s shuffling away. “Tsukki’s trying to rest.”

Tsukishima listens to the muted conversation as it fades little by little going out the door, his breath trembling out of him as soon as Yamaguchi is out of earshot. He pulls his arms in a little closer, shuts his eyes a little tighter.

_Pathetic,_ he hisses at himself. _Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic._

///

He contemplates missing afternoon practice under the guise of sickness as well.

But just as the thought enters his head, Tsukishima decides quickly that even that is much too beneath him, and grudgingly, his feet bring him up the stairs and in front of the door to the clubroom. Given his rotten luck, Tsukishima was just about expecting it when it happens to be the three other third years and no one else that he finds awaiting him inside.

“Demon!” Hinata yells in terror as soon as he sees Tsukishima opening the door. “Demon Eyebags!”

“How are you going to practice?” Kageyama snaps, fuming at the sight of him. “You look like you’re dying! Why do none of you take care of yourselves, goddammit!”

“Leave him alone,” Yamaguchi snaps defensively in his behalf the way he hadn’t for a long time now.

Tsukishima tries not to find any implications in it. He knows now that there’s none. He ignores their ruckus and walks wordlessly towards his locker instead to start changing. He pointedly takes no notice of the way the three of them fall quiet as if dragged along by his silence, or the way he can feel Yamaguchi’s eyes at the back of his head, boring a hole with the intensity of his worried gaze.

“We’ll get going now,” Hinata informs them after a moment, sending a glance between Yamaguchi and Tsukishima like he’s unsure whether he’s making the right decision of leaving them by themselves. Kageyama, on the other hand, all but rushes out of the door. Hinata gives Yamaguchi a tentative smile. “Meet you at the gym?”

“We’ll meet you there.” Yamaguchi nods. “Lead the team in warm-up, please.”

“Will do, Captain!”

Hinata leaves them in the clubroom. With just the two of them, the silence seems to expand across the small space, pushing against the walls. Tsukishima can feel how oppressive it is, how suffocating it seems, but he ignores it nonetheless like the coward he is and keeps on stuffing things into his locker as quick as he can in hopes that he can escape it.

He doesn’t, of course.

When Yamaguchi breaks the silence, he breaks it gently, carefully, the way Tsukishima imagines Yamaguchi would break his heart if he ever idiotically ends up confessing anyway despite the reality of things.

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi begins with a hand on his arm. He must feel how Tsukishima tenses up underneath his touch because Yamaguchi quickly retracts it. “Tsukki, you know—“

“I’m fine,” Tsukishima cuts in firmly, desperate to end a conversation that had barely even started. “I can practice.”

“I know, but that’s not—“

Tsukishima interrupts him with the sound of his locker shutting close. “We’re going to be late.” He stalks for the door brusquely, but then again, Tsukishima should know better. Yamaguchi isn’t the same Yamaguchi he was back when they were first years.

Instead of letting him walk away, Yamaguchi pulls him to a stop with a hand on his wrist, the strength thrumming in his calloused palm burning a warm brand on Tsukishima’s skin. Tsukishima swallows heavily, stomach sinking with emotions, and turns to the sight of Yamaguchi’s face set in a stubborn frown.

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi says again in a tone that warns him not to interrupt. Tsukishima wisely keeps his mouth shut. “I don’t want to force you to talk about things you’re not ready talk about.”

Tsukishima nods sharply.

“But I also want to remind you that I’m your best friend,” Yamaguchi continues, and guilt floods Tsukishima in strong waves. “I trust you. I hope you trust me, too. You know you can tell me anything.”

Tsukishima looks him in the eye for the first time. “ _Can_ I?” he wonders aloud. 

Yamaguchi drops his wrist in surprise, eyes wide. Hurt.

Tsukishima turns on his heel as quick as he can— _pathetic pathetic pathetic_ —and walks out of the door.

///

Afternoon practice is tense.

Tsukishima knows it. Yamaguchi knows it. Everyone does.

Even Coach Ukai is grimacing at the heavy atmosphere in the gym, and his awkward solution comes in the form of a practice match within and among the team. He splits the team in two and separates the third years into unusual combinations. Yamaguchi and Hinata on one team, with their second year setter and two other first years. Kageyama and Tsukishima on another to lead their second year teammates.

The setup has Kageyama glaring at Tsukishima as if all of this is Tsukishima’s fault.

Which, it most likely is, but Tsukishima isn’t about to give Kageyama the satisfaction of him bowing down.

The match is a fucking mess.

Kageyama’s annoyance and Tsukishima’s stiffness make their second year members terrified beyond belief, affecting their play as a whole. They’re losing by over five points, which makes Kageyama even more disgruntled. He keeps glancing over at Tsukishima like he’s planning to deck him in the face at any given moment and Tsukishima is bracing for it.

From the other side of the net, Hinata insists on taking up the heavy responsibility of trying to keep things lighthearted, praising the members of the opponent team every time they score. Hinata’s plan fails as soon as Yamaguchi takes up the serve and brutally demolishes their defense. It’s a testament to how foul Yamaguchi’s mood is that he’s not even pretending to be merciful.

They manage to save the ball after Yamaguchi’s fourth serve. Kageyama and a second year spiker get one point from a quick set that has Hinata shaking with envy from across them. They lose the one point just as easily when Haru, one of the second years, misses a serve.

Tsukishima blinks down at the gym floor.

Everything about this day feels like shit. It doesn’t help that the ache in his temples is back with a vengeance, and his vision keeps blurring at the edges with each exhausted blink. He can feel the irritating trail of sweat on the side of his face, can hear each squeak of a rubber shoe sole against the wooden floors.

Next to him, Kageyama squats in preparation for the opponent’s serve. “Put your head back in the game,” he grunts, and Tsukishima resists the petty urge to flip him off as he picks his head up and looks forward.

Tsukishima forces himself to breathe out and gather focus. Winning the match is definitely no longer a possibility at the moment, but it wouldn’t hurt to give the other team a hard time with claiming their victory. He thinks this is also what Kageyama has in mind. Tsuksihima takes in the movement on the other side of the net.

He sees Watanabe turning the ball in his hands, gearing up for his serve.

Tagawa, mirroring Kageyama’s position.

Hinata, bouncing on his feet in anticipation of running for a toss.

Yamaguchi, visibly breathing out.

Yamaguchi, inching himself to guard the back corner.

Yamaguchi, tugging his practice shirt up to wipe away the sweat on his face.

Yamaguchi, with his shirt up and his stomach exposed.

Yamaguchi, with his stomach exposed.

Yamaguchi, with his stomach—

“Tsukishima!” Kageyama barks.

The volleyball collides against his face in a shock of speed and sudden pain. Someone shrieks. Tsukishima tumbles down to the gym floor and thinks, _Fuck._

///

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

Tsukishima shoves Kageyama’s blurry hands aside even as humiliation threatens to melt away the skin off of his face. “My glasses _broke_ , you prick,” he snaps. His teammates have gathered around him like ants. Off to the side, Watanabe is bawling his heart out for apparently killing his Tsukishima-senpai via a volleyball serve to the face. Next to him, Hinata is howling in laughter for Tsukishima’s apparent death via a volleyball serve to the face.

His teammates only open their circle to let Coach Ukai and Yachi crouch next to where Tsukishima sat himself up. “I’m fine,” Tsukishima tells them as Coach opens his mouth to ask and just before Yachi can brandish her first aid kit. “It broke my glasses, but I’m fine. There’s a spare in my locker.”

“Tsukishima-kun, you have a small gash,” Yachi informs him worriedly, fingers fluttering over Tsukishima’s nose without quite touching. “Right here.”

Tsukishima reaches up for it. It stings but when he draws his fingers away, there doesn’t seem to be any blood that comes away with it. “It’s nothing.”

“Alright,” Coach blows out an audible sigh, stressed out. “Everyone take ten!” he declares to the team. “We’ll continue this after Tsukishima gets sorted out. Watanabe! Stop crying, you’re fine! Hinata, make Watanabe calm down! Kageyama,” he turns to the setter, who’s still glaring down at Tsukishima, “help Tsukishima get his spare glasses—”

“I’ll help him.”

Tsukishima looks up to his blurry doom. He doesn’t need his glasses to see the hard grimace on Yamaguchi’s face or the stiff set of his best friend’s jaw as Yamaguchi looks down on his pathetic display on the floor.

Yamaguchi doesn’t help him up, and Tsukishima doesn’t expect him to.

When his volleyball captain turns his back and starts walking out of the gym, it’s all Tsukishima can to do follow.

///

Yamaguchi is quiet in his anger as they walk to the clubroom. He is quiet as they climb up the stairs. He is quiet as Tsukishima opens the door and walks to his locker, quiet as Tsukishima sorts through his belongings in search of the spare glasses. He stands solid and burning in his silent outrage against the set of lockers opposite of Tsukishima’s.

Tsukishima breathes steadily through his nose as his hands find the spare glasses. He puts them on as calmly as he can, tired eyes grateful for the once-more clear vision, and he closes his locker carefully, with as little noise as possible before turning to face Yamaguchi.

Yamaguchi’s hand slams angrily on the lockers behind him.

Tsukishima winces. “Yamaguchi—”

“ _No_ ,” Yamaguchi interrupts, absolutely furious. “You don’t get to talk right now. You don’t get to make up an excuse.”

“I’m not—“

“You got hit by a volleyball _in the face_ ,” Yamaguchi snaps. “With a perfectly receivable serve!”

Tsukishima grimaces. “That is _not_ the issue here.”

“That IS one of the issues here!” Yamaguchi shouts. His fists are trembling by his sides, the line of his shoulders locked tight and rigid. “That is the only issue that I can even address as your shitty volleyball captain! You could have gotten a broken nose. You could have gotten a fucking concussion, all because of the stupid thing you’re mulling over!”

“It’s not stupid,” Tsukishima bristles, swallowing through the hurt that cuts like jagged glass. “Don’t you dare call it stupid.”

“How should I know?” Yamaguchi demands. He takes a furious step towards Tsukishima and Tsukishima forces himself to stand his ground, even as he catches the glassy sheen of building tears in Yamaguchi’s eyes. “I don’t know anything, Tsukki! You said it yourself, you don’t even trust me enough to tell me! I’m your best friend, and you can’t even trust me enough to tell me!”

“I never said that.”

“You implied it!”

“That is not what I meant!” Tsukishima snaps.

“Then what did you mean?” Yamaguchi shouts. His chest is heaving with the force of his rapid, angry breaths, jaw and fists clenched in frustration, and every bared inch of his face is painted in heartbreak. The lights catch in his desperate glare. He is barely centimeters away, and all Tsukishima wants to do is to kiss him.

It is not like a dam breaking open.

It is a quiet, aching admission instead, that comes out of Tsukishima’s mouth as a tremble. “There is a bag of frozen fries in our fridge.”

Yamaguchi heaves out a heavy, shuddering breath. He’s still angry—rightfully so, Tsukishima knows, but at least he’s still willing to listen. “What?”

“There are frozen fries in our fridge,” Tsukishima repeats hoarsely. As he speaks, every part of him alive is coated in the cold terror of an impending rejection once Yamaguchi realizes what he means. He tries not to think again of the decade-long friendship between them, tries not to think about what would become of him with his only friend gone. “I saw it last week and thought of cooking it in the morning so they would be soggy by the time I give them to you. I still see it in the fridge every day and it haunts me. Sometimes I can’t sleep because of it. The day you got your haircut, I also couldn’t sleep.”

“I—What? What are you, what are you—”

“The day we won the Shiratorizawa practice match,” Tsukishima begins again, pushing through despite the cracks threatening to tear into his voice. “I pulled you up from where you had dived for the ball. I thought the gym lights looked beautiful on you and I hadn’t known then why I thought that. And then, when we walked home,” Tsukishima swallows back the lump in his throat, swallows back the clog of desperate words begging to be spoken, “you told me you would risk it, the future, the circumstances, for someone you loved. And you asked me what I would do.”

Slow realization takes over Yamaguchi’s eyes.

Tsukishima holds his gaze steady, holds the quiver of his hands close. “I would risk it. Even though things change. Even when it’s too late.” he says, as hushed as a promise, a confession, a plea. “Even now that I’m too late. But only if it was you, Yamaguchi.”

“Tsukki, I—” Yamaguchi takes a step back, and breaks Tsukishima’s heart with it. “You like me? Is that it? Is this—is this a confession?”

“I know what you said to Yachi,” Tsukishima tells him in lieu of an apology. “I know this isn’t what you want—”

“What?” Yamaguchi says, before it clicks. The anger in his expression vanishes. Tsukishima resists the urge to run away from the rest of the painful conversation. He watches dreadfully as Yamaguchi’s hands come up to cover his face, and then Yamaguchi is properly freaking out. “Oh. Oh my god, Tsukki—“

“You don’t have to say anything,” Tsukishima forces out. “That’s not want I want, Yamaguchi.”

Yamaguchi’s hands drop from his face as he looks right at Tsukishima with such offended disbelief. “Tsukki,” Yamaguchi tells him plainly. “You are so incredibly stupid.”

Tsukishima would be hurt, except there’s no time, because Yamaguchi steps back into his space in the next second and then there’s a strong, sure hand pulling him down by the back of his neck and then Yamaguchi is kissing him, soft and sweet and insistent—

—and it is difficult, Tsukishima realizes.

It is not easy at all. It is heartbreaking and shattering, this sudden, crashing realization that he has not lost anything in his pursuit for more, and his trembling hands flutter around Yamaguchi’s face before they get to soothe their ache to hold him, cupping his jaw as carefully as he can as Tsukishima kisses back and melts into it.

Yamaguchi doesn’t stop holding him even as they pull apart.

“You are so stupid,” he breathes out instead, and then leans in to kiss the sting of his words away. “Oh my god, Tsukki.” Tsukishima nods with him, because he is. “I thought you had trust issues with me.”

“No, I like you.”

“I get that.” Yamaguchi kisses him again, quickly. “You thought that I didn’t want this. What the hell.”

His face feels hot even against Yamaguchi’s warm palms that have come up to cradle his jaw. “With Yachi,” Tsukishima croaks out. “You told her you didn’t want this confession—“

“I didn’t want the type of confession she was getting,” Yamaguchi clarifies with a shake of his head. “From someone who doesn’t care about what I felt and just wanted to hear a yes. That’s not what I want. This,” Yamaguchi leans in to knock their foreheads together, breaking into a wide smile. “This was something I’ve only been dreaming of for years. Of course I want this.”

Tsukishima’s brain feels fried as he inhales sharply and blinks, pulling back a little. “What?”

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi sighs over a shaky, overwhelmed laugh. He looks half-exasperated, half-overly fond and Tsukishima can’t believe he has been missing a detail like this all of this time. “I’m not sure how you don’t know. I’ve been in love with you since you first called me pathetic to my face.”

“ _What_?”

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi grins, “the whole team knows. The whole team knew back when we were in first year and the whole team knows now. Hinata and Yachi know. Kageyama knows. Daichi-san and Ennoshita-san knew, too.”

“Stop talking.” Tsukishima takes a seat down on the floor of the clubroom, his burning face in his hands. Yamaguchi stands over him, laughing.

“Coach knows.”

“Stop.”

“I’m pretty sure even half of Nekoma and like, one-third of the training camp know—“

Tsukishima makes a helpless noise in the back of his throat. “ _Yamaguchi_.”

Yamaguchi laughs at him even as he joins Tsukishima on the floor. He sits cross-legged in front of him and softly tugs Tsukishima’s hands off his face. “Hi,” Yamaguchi says as Tsukishima looks at him, and Tsukishima can’t take it. He leans over and presses a kiss on Yamaguchi’s mouth, and Yamaguchi smiles against him.

“You’re embarrassing,” Tsukishima mutters as they break apart.

“You confessed to me,” Yamaguchi points out, accusatory. “You thought the gym lights were beautiful on me or something.”

“They were,” Tsukishima reasons.

“You wanted to cook me soggy fries.”

“I did,” he admits.

“You like me.”

“I do,” Tsukishima says, as quietly as he can, with all the sincerity he could gather. "I like you."

This time, when Yamaguchi kisses him again, it feels like everything.

**end**

Hinata bursts into the clubroom not an hour later.

He freezes at the sight of Yamaguchi sitting on the floor, Tsukishima’s blonde head pillowed on his lap. The Eyebags Demon has finally been subdued. Hinata’s eyes are wide as they search Yamaguchi’s expression in complete wonder of how his volleyball captain managed it.

“Don’t freak out,” Yamaguchi tells him sternly through a whisper-hiss.

“I’m gonna freak out,” Hinata whisper-hisses back.

“Do it outside then.”

Hinata steps back out of the clubroom and closes the door quietly, firmly shut, before running down of the stairs and into the gym where the rest of the team has started to clean up.

“TOBIO,” Hinata roars, uncaring about the rest of the scandalized team as he grins widely. “You owe me two pork buns!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my fic! I hope you enjoyed this! ^_^
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are more than welcome! <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments (short comments, long comments, rambles, and keysmashes) are very much welcome! 
> 
> Please scream at me about your love for TsukkiYama in the comments section. <3 <3 <3


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